


Couldn't Be Happier

by TourmalineQueen



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, Dragon Age Prompt Fest, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humour, spoilers for Patch10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TourmalineQueen/pseuds/TourmalineQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxwell Trevelyan loves his new wardrobe (from Patch 10). Cassandra has no patience for his enthusiasm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't Be Happier

Cassandra knocked on the door to the Inquisitor's chambers for the third time, shooting Josephine an irritated glare as she did so. 

"I hope you are satisfied, Ambassador, you've successfully completely distracted the Inquisitor from his role," she growled.

"Let him play with his new toys until he tires of them. My sister is much like him, Lady Cassandra, so I know he'll be out soon enough," Josephine smiled serenely, descended the wooden stairway and left the irate Seeker alone.

For the fourth time, Cassandra knocked loudly on Maxwell's door. 

"It's open," came a muffled response from inside.

Cassandra blinked, glanced around to make sure nobody saw, and tried the handle. The door did open, as promised. She made a disgusted noise under her breath. The room was strewn about with discarded clothes, a white shirt, Maxwell's usual beige, several sets of formal attire like what they had worn to Halamshiral. Cassandra began picking them up.

"You do this just to vex me, don't you, Maxwell?"

"Do what?" Max Trevelyan asked from across the room.

Cassandra halted mid-step, arrested by the sight of her Inquisitor without his shirt. He wore his usual form-fitting beige breeches and boots, but was leaning over the new wardrobe, pawing through it. His back was bare, muscular and very distracting.

"Cass? What do I do just to vex you?" Max turned to face her, a blissfully happy expression across his features.

"You are needed in the War Room," Cassandra replied.

"That is not what I asked," he pointed out, turning back to the wardrobe and lifting out a shirt, kerchief and jacket.

"You do _everything_ just to vex me," Cassandra teased. He gave a muffled laugh from underneath the shirt as he pulled it over his head.

"Specifically, you stay in your quarters and play dress-up when the Inquisition needs you to guide our operations," Cassandra pointed out.

Max turned and shrugged into his jacket, tugging it into place, and brushing the ... _tail_ ... back and out. 

"Are you happy with this look? What do you think? The fit's exquisite, not that I should be surprised with Josie involved," he asked, blithely disregarding her complaint.

"It's fine. Will you come now to the War Room?"

"Do you like it, Cass? I want to know. What do you think of the capelet?"

Cassandra raised a single brow. "The what did you call it? Capelet? It is ridiculous."

Max pouted, "I think it's fancy. I couldn't be happier with it."

"You really _are_ from the Free Marches, aren't you," Cassandra mused. "It hides your best feature."

"It does no such thing," Max argued, smiling like a nug in the pantry.

"Your face is _not_ your best feature your - your behind is," Cassandra retorted, hesitating when she saw his shoulders begin to shake with amusement.

Max craned his head comically, trying to look at his backside. "I don't see it. Or maybe I can't see what you see when you run around the Hinterlands behind me."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and turned to leave. "War Room. Now, Maxwell."

"Cass, please don't leave. I'll change, I swear," Max pleaded, tugging the kerchief from his neck and shrugging out of his jacket.

"No, you won't," Cassandra retorted, folding her arms, keeping her back to him. "People don't change."

"I'm changing, right now, I swear it, Cass! I'll even stop talking about how fine my arse is and recite more poetry to you," Max pleaded, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Here, look, Cass, I've got a blue shirt that doesn't cover my posterior. Do you like this one?"

"War. Room. Now."

"There once was a young man from Ostwick- Cass! Oooooff!"

Cassandra threw the pile of clothes with deadly accuracy.


End file.
